


Magical Misconceptions

by foxymoley, NadiaHart



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Animated Art, Animation, Art, Castiel and Dean Winchester are Neighbors, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Crushes, Cute, Dean Winchester - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Domestic Fluff, Fan Art, First Kiss, Fluff, Holidays, Human Castiel, Kid Fic, M/M, Meet-Cute, Misuse of Mistletoe, Neighbors, POV Castiel, ProfoundPrompts, Sam Ships It, Sam has a kid, Snowball Fight, THERE IS SO MUCH ART IN THIS FIC, a cute fluffy fic full of art and dean and cas being adorable, cas keeps bees, domestic AU, his name is Robby, holiday fic, horticulturist cas, it should just be a picture book, not a witch Cas, seriously, so much art, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 11:00:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13234287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxymoley/pseuds/foxymoley, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NadiaHart/pseuds/NadiaHart
Summary: This came about from the following prompt on Discord, which was then playfully dubbed the 'NotAWitch!Cas' Verse:"Me, in my cottage, in front of the wood stove, sipping tea. Looking outside, my bees are pollinating my expansive garden. My goats and chickens and cows are happy and safe. I feel content with my choices and my future. I unconditionally and recklessly love myself. The local children believe I am a witch"The prompt is in first person POV but the fic is not written in the first person, it's from Cas's pov. I hope you enjoy this warm and fuzzy holiday season themed fic with so much beautiful art by FoxyMoley. Happy 2018, friends.





	Magical Misconceptions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [foxymoley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxymoley/gifts), [cryptomoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryptomoon/gifts).



> A big thank you to [@foxymoley](https://foxymoley.tumblr.com/) and [@Cryptomoon](http://space-wolf.com/) for challenging the authors: that whoever wrote this prompt would get art to go with it. And boy did they deliver. 
> 
> Foxy was with me every step of the way when writing this side of the fic, and has created more art than I could have ever imagined receiving. Successfully turning this from a fic to a picture book. Keep on the lookout for part two in Dean's pov by OsirisApollo
> 
> Please pop by their tumblrs and give a follow, they totally deserve it.
> 
> Special thanks to my besties [@MaskofCognito](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MaskofCognito/pseuds/MaskofCognito) and [@OsirisApollo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/OsirisApollo/pseuds/OsirisApollo) for being my beta readers and putting up with me all the time<3 Read their works! They are so tallented!!

It was snowing. The gentle drift of large white flakes floated passed his steadily fogging front window. Castiel didn’t mind though. He was warm and cozy, wrapped up in a handknit wool blanket and snuggled in his large, second hand, wingback chair.

A fire burned merrily in the grate to his right. An old and well-loved book sat in his lap, an old record player hummed soft melodies from another room, and a steaming mug of lavender honeysuckle tea warmed his fingers in his favorite Apidae mug. This one had an anatomical drawing of a large queen bee with all the different parts of her intricate body labeled. It was adorable and informative—two things Cas could appreciate.

He sighed happily into his cup, letting the fragrant steam wash over his senses. It was a perfect day. His eyes slid contentedly to the window again, taking in the gray overcast sky and the steady but almost lazy fall of snow. The hour was late and the chill in the air was picking up.

It had been a perfect day, his greenhouses were thriving and his mid-season harvest had been bountiful. There were a plethora of fresh herbs drying over his kitchen sink and he had gotten a jump on this week's canning. The winter market should be very successful. Tomorrow he would shake the snow off his rosemary bushes and prepare to replant them into more festive pots for the market.

 

**Thunk.**

 

**Thunk, thunk.**

 

**Thunk.**

 

Castiel was roused from his thoughts rather violently as a barrage of snowballs splattered against his window. He set his book down and shifted so he could see over the fog condensing at the bottom of the pane. Children bundled to the tips of their ears were huddled together at the end of his front walk.

He could only pick out two of them immediately: the Shurley's four-year-old daughter, and Mr. Winchester's twelve-year-old nephew. As Castiel watched, the Winchester boy bent, scooped up some more snow, and hurled it towards the front of his house to a chorus of gasps and giggles.

“Rob! Robby! The witch’ll put a spell on you!” One of the children squealed, tugging on Robert Winchester’s coat sleeve.

Cas rolled his eyes, a fond smile on his lips, as one of the smaller boys bent and tossed a loose flurry of snow. The flakes barely floated two feet before drifting back to the ground below. It was obvious to him that the little boy—…was it the Lafitte’s child? Yes, he could see those large blue eyes, even from here—was trying to emulate the older boy.

It wasn’t the first time he had been faced with the fact that the neighborhood children, and most likely some of their parents, fashioned him some sort of 20th century witch. He did have what many would consider an unnerving talent for growing plants in any season. And there was that time he had been giving directions and a wild bird had fluttered down, landing on his outstretched finger. He had also found himself, during one or two full moons, in his backyard hand feeding homegrown corn to a family of deer.

At the time it had seemed like a once in a lifetime experience, but now the deer were used to him being there, and he felt bad if he missed their passage through his yard. On closer introspection, he could see how the scene could appear to an outsider. What his neighbor might have seen if they had gotten up for a drink of water in the middle of the night and, while standing groggily in their kitchen, spied him in his yard surrounded by deer, wearing a hooded bathrobe. For all intents and purposes, if Castiel himself had come across that vision, he would have assumed he was a witch too.

Clicking his tongue at himself, Cas shifted back in his seat, snuggling deeper into his blanket. He liked to believe that his affinity for nature made him an exceptional herbalist, and not a witch. Although, he could see how the rumors got started. He will admit that he was unusual—in this day and age of technology and internet—with his homemade clothes, eccentric style, a penchant for old books, indoor plants, antiques, and cozy clutter.

“Like this,” Robert Winchester's voice rang out clear as a bell in the snowy landscape. “You gotta pack the snow tight!” He shouted, red-cheeked and words leaving his lips on a cloud of vapor. Castiel chuckled, he didn’t need to watch him throw the snowball. Robert pitched for his middle school baseball team. The boy had a bright future ahead of him and if he continued to grow as rapidly as he was, and he reached even remotely close to his father's height, he could go pro.

_**“ROBERT MICHAEL WINCHESTER!”** _

The bellowing rumble of Dean Winchesters familiar voice broke through the giggles. The sudden hush falling over the group of children was all too closely followed by a loud _CRACK_. The distinct sound of one of his clay pots breaking roused Castiel to his feet. The blanket fell from his lap and piled around his slippered feet on the floor. He carefully set his mug on the tea table next to his chair and shuffled rapidly towards his front door. In the street, the sounds of squealing, screaming, and child-laughter faded as Castiel assumed the children had abandoned their impromptu leader to whatever doom he would find at his uncle's hands.

Sure enough, as he pulled open his front door—the handmade pine and holly wreath swaying slightly—his vision was filled with the towering form of Dean Winchester. He was dragging his squirming and pleading nephew up what— twenty-five minutes ago—had been his freshly shoveled front path. The cold winter wind seems to carry both men and a flurry of snow up his front steps. It had Castiel curling his arms against his chest, despite the thick, soft, yellow sweater he was wearing. Snow drifted between them as Dean pulled Robbie up onto the porch. The older man stopping short in his tirade as his eyes connected with Castiel’s.

While there should have been nothing overtly embarrassing about the scene Castiel found himself in at that moment, the way Dean’s entire body had to come to a complete halt as their eyes connected—his full lips still parted on whatever he had been saying—found a rush of color filling Castiel’s cheeks that had nothing to do with the biting wind.

Straightening Dean licked his lips and cleared his throat. At his side, Robert hung his head, digging the toe of his boot into the steadily collecting snow. Castiel watched with a mild amusement as Dean again licked his lips, opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, opened it again, cleared his throat, and lifted his free hand to rub the back of his neck.

If anything, the out of character display made Castiel blush further. A sudden wave of shyness overtook him. He tucked his chin into the fluffy turtleneck collar of his sweater. Normally he wasn’t shy, but there had always been something about his roguishly good-looking neighbor that made him think twice about everything he said to the man. Not that they had even said much to one another over the five years they had been neighbors.

Castiel blinked, finally pulling his eyes from Dean’s. It was difficult. They were the color of fresh holly leaves and spring grass, like the first sprouts to break the earth after a long cold winter. They reminded Castiel of new beginnings, the life and joy and revitalization he felt each and every spring as the earth thawed and woke up.

But that’s when he saw it.

“Oh no!” Castiel gasped, quickly stepping back into his foyer, kicking his slippers off, and sliding his thickly socked feet into his snow boots. He rushed out onto the porch, the wind buffeting him, and both Winchesters boots shifted nervously on the edge of his vision.

Two of his rosemary bushes were toppled over, their soil cascading all over his front steps. It appeared as if one had fallen onto the other and the pots had shattered. Castiel knelt, lifting the smaller of the two bushes. A sad frown etched onto his features as he examined the damage.

“I...it was an accident!” Robert rushed and Dean shushed him.

“But it was… It was an accident” Robert whisper-whined.

“Robert, be quiet.” Dean scolded clearing his throat nervously. “Uh, look, Mr. Novak…”

That didn’t sound right and Castiel looked up from where he was kneeling, the snow soaking through his pajama pants and sending a chill deep into his bones. Dean shouldn’t be addressing him so formally. He should be calling him by his name. No, Dean should be calling him Cas.

In that moment, he decided that it was absolutely ridiculous for him to continue to keep himself at arms length when all he’d really wanted all this time was to know Dean better. After suffering five years of smiles at mailboxes and friendly waves while mowing the lawn, it was time for a change. Hell, he’d had to suffer five years of watching the other man wash his ridiculously loud car in those cut-off jean shorts, and it was all just too much. And now, having him stand here on his porch looking so wonderfully embarrassed, Cas just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Cas, if you please.” He said, watching as Dean’s eyes widened slightly.

“Cas.”

The warmth that suffused Cas’s stomach at the sound of his name on those lips made him break eye contact in surprise. Carefully, he scooped up the small plant and stood, grimacing at the sodden muddy state of his pajama pants.

“Look, Cas, I am so sorry about that. I’ll pay for a new pot.” Dean began, his words having apparently returned to him. “For some reason this little monster,” he pulled Robert farther up onto the porch, “has it in his head that you’re some kind of witch or something.”

Without having any idea how to respond, Castiel stared in mild shock at both of them. His eyes slide from Robert’s drooping head to Dean’s wide green eyes. As if his silence broke something between them, Dean began to speak rapidly, and the longer he spoke the louder his voice grew.

“I told him there is no such thing as witches—and even if there were you’d be, like, a warlock or something. Witches are women, and wizards, or warlocks, are men. But I mean, you could totally be a witch if you wanted to, I don’t judge, you know.... Who am I to decide who can or can’t be a witch if that’s how they—I dunno—identify…..” Dean seemed to turn three shades of red as he spoke. His words faded out as if he suddenly realized both Cas and Robert were staring wide-eyed at him. “Just, if he’s going to accuse you of being something you’re not, he might as well use the right terminology,” he finished sort of lamely.

Castiel couldn't help but laugh. The more Dean rambled, the more he seemed to realize he was not saying what he’d apparently intended to say upon charging across the street. It was adorable. Cas blinked at the thought. Adorable was a word he had been using to describe Dean an awful lot today.

“Yes. Well, I am neither a witch nor a warlock. Or a wizard, was it?” Cas smiled and Dean reflected it back at him.

“See, I told you,” Dean scolded Robert again.

“But that’s just what a witch would say!” Robert whined back, casting a distrustful glance at Castiel to which Dean groaned.

“It doesn’t matter if that’s what a witch would say, Robby, because Cas isn’t a witch. He’s an herbalist and a horticulturist!”

To say that he was surprised at Dean’s knowledge of his career was an understatement. He must have been staring dumbfounded at the man because when Dean looked up from Robert he started.

“I… That… is what you do isn’t it?”

“Yes. Yes, it is.” Cas responded unable to look away.

Dean gave him a small smile, before turning his attention down to his nephew.“Now, you’re going to say you’re sorry for throwing snowballs at his house, and for breaking his pots…”

“If you hadn’t had scared me I wouldn’t have missed and then I wouldn’t have knocked the pot over!” Robert argued.

“And if I hadn’t called your name you would have thrown that snowball at his window, and that rock would have smashed it to pieces!  You should count yourself lucky that we are not having a much more serious discussion right now.” Dean seethed, pointing at an angular chunk of what appeared to be a broken piece of concrete—perhaps from the street curb?—resting among the shattered bits of his terracotta planter.

“Now apologize to Mr. Novak and promise him you won’t be doing anything like this again. And you’re going to help him re-pot his plants and…. and you’re going to shovel his path for the rest of the month!”

“But Uncle D….”

“Now, Robby.”

Castiel couldn’t help but feel a bit awkward at the entire situation. He didn’t enjoy conflict. He especially disliked it when children were involved. In this particular situation, he felt even worse because it was with a child who appeared to be hiding his fear behind bravado, as appeared to be a Winchester trait.

“Now that’s really not...” Castiel began.

“I’m sorry!” Robert blurted out. “I’m sorry I called you a witch. And I’m sorry we threw snowballs at your house, and I’m sorry I broke your plant pot. And I’m sorry that last summer I scared your cat up a tree but I thought it was following me, and I didn’t want it to know where I lived! I know cats are like, witches’ familiars or something…” Robert ended on a mumble, again kicking at the snow.

Castiel stood, shocked at the outburst. He lifted his gaze from the boys head to see to see Dean mirroring his expression. Where Castiel was rapidly finding amusement in the whole situation, it was clear that Dean was devolving into embarrassed frustration.

“Robb…”

“Now, now.” Castiel cut across Dean. A full body shiver wracked his frame and he glanced longingly over his shoulder towards the warmth of his home. “I was going to re-pot these tomorrow, anyway,” he said, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice. Already, his hands were going stiff from holding the damp earth of the rosemary bush in his palms. “I can just do it tonight.”

Jumping into action Dean bent down and scooped the other bush—and as much snowy soil as he could—up in his palms “We’ll help!” He announced as he gently nudged Robert with his hip. The boy glanced nervously from Dean to Castiel before sighing and scooping up the last two plants, both of which still had their pots intact.

“Um... alright.” Cas agreed, more focused on getting his freezing body back into the warmth of his house than worried this would be the first time Dean had been in his home since the day he moved in. “Follow me. If you can, please leave your boots by the door.” Cas looked over his shoulder in time to see both Winchesters look down at their booted feet, laced halfway up their shins, and frown. Adorable was definitely a family trait.

“Ah, yes. Well, don’t worry about it. Just be sure to close the door behind you.” He said slipping back out of his boots and stepping gratefully into the warmth of his front hall. He watched Robert step in after him, stomping his feet on the interior mat and moving aside to make room for his uncle. His hazel eyes seemed to light up in wonder as he took in Castiel’s home.

Everything was warm wood and raw stone. A litany of shelving units lined every available surface, weighed down by a melange of books and the unique items Castiel had collected over the years. None of the overstuffed couches or chairs matched. The hearth blazed invitingly bright and filled the small house with the warm smell of pine and woodsmoke.

He had recently decorated for the holidays, and fresh garland sprigs adorned the arches to each room and the banister to the second story. Bands of deep red silk were woven among the green branches, and flickering yellow candles were arranged here and there throughout the house to keep the feeling of warmth alive in each room.

“Wow,” Robert said in awe. “Never been in a witch’s house before.”

Castiel chuckled as Dean clicked his tongue, shutting the door with his heel and stomping as much snow from his boots onto the interior mat as he could.

“Is it what you pictured?” Castiel asked enigmatically, his left brow arching as he gazed down at the boy.

“No way. It looks more like Santa’s house at the north pole.” He responded eagerly. He glanced at his uncle, licked his lips, and shrugged. “You know... If you still believe in that kinda baby stuff.”

This time Castiel laughed loudly, his head tossing back as mirth filled him from the inside out. “That’s a very nice thing for you to say, Robert.” With a wink and a tilt of his head, he motioned for Robert to follow him through the house, confident Dean would trail not far behind.

“Wow, Cas. You’ve really done something with the place.” Dean’s voice reached him with mild surprise.

“Five years is a long time, Dean.” Castiel reminded gently, smiling over his shoulder as he led the men down the hallway, through the kitchen, and out into the attached greenroom.

The last time Dean was in his home was moving day. Castiel had been reassured in his decision to move to this small town when five or six of his neighbors had come over to help him unload his moving truck and get all of his boxes and knick-knacks into his newly purchased home.

“Things change, people grow…” Castiel let his voice fade away as he pushed the little door to the greenroom open with his hip and stepped into the humid heat. “Feel free to leave your coats by the door,” He said as he slipped his socked feet into his Crocs and walked over to his work table.

“Dean, you can put that plant here,” Castiel spoke as he set his own pot-less plant on the counter, dusting his hands off. “and Robert—”

“You... um. You can call me Robby.” The young boy said shyly, gazing anywhere but at Castiel.

“Alright. Robby, you can put those two plants here. I’m going to show you how to re-pot them as I’d like to make them more appealing to sell at the Winter Market.”

Castiel gave a friendly smile—which Robby returned—and wandered deeper into the green-room to find the pots for his rosemary bushes. The decorative pots were stacked by the foggy back windows. The room had been intended to be used as a sunroom, but Castiel had renovated it to be more conducive in keeping his plants alive through the chilly winter months. Collecting four themed pots, he headed back to his work table.

His heart warmed at the sight of Dean and Robby standing by his workbench—now jacketless—whispering to one another as they looked at all the different plants and tools.  He savored the moment, slowing his steps down, as he observed them. Dean pointed at a blooming Camellia plant and Robby nodded, a smile stretching his youthful face.

“Ok. So, everyone take a pot,” Castiel directed as both men stepped up to the workbench on either side of him. He smiled at how content he felt.

Over the next hour, Castiel walked Dean and Robby through repotting the rosemary bushes. He tried not to notice how many times he and Dean’s hands seemed to brush. Or how the small of his back was still tingling from the all too brief moment Dean had placed his hand there to reach for something on his other side. He definitely failed at ignoring the way Dean’s ridiculously green eyes seemed to meet him at every opportunity.

With a valiant—but ultimately futile—effort to stem the steady bubble of hope that had begun to fill his chest, Castiel acquiesced to Robby’s plea and gave a small tour of his greenroom. He tried desperately not to blush and stammer over the Latin names of his plants, but every time Dean’s long, strong fingers would stroke along a leaf— or gently grip his arm to call Castiel's attention back to him— Castiel lost a bit of his control.

As if these men couldn’t worm their way any faster into Castiel’s heart, they asked insightful and probing questions. Dean seemed to genuinely hang on every one of Castiel’s answers. It was exciting and unnerving to have such a smart, kind man pay him so much attention.

__If only…_ _

As they turned the last corner and Dean and Robby stopped to ask more questions about a large glossy leafed bush, Castiel couldn’t pull the smile from his lips. It was easy to envision, now that he was no longer under the heat of Dean’s intense gaze, opening his home to beginning gardeners. Teaching classes to people who just wanted to have a little more greenery in their life.

The group made their way back to the workbench, and—like the pro’s they now were—Dean and Robby helped Castiel straighten up the mess they had made.

The distinct sound of a stomach rumbling brought Castiel out of his thoughts. Looking away from the now cleaned workbench and repotted rosemary, he found a blushing Dean and a giggling Robby.

“I think that’s our cue to go,” Dean said.

At the same time Castiel asked, “How about some snacks?”

Their eyes met, and it took Robby clearing his throat and asking exactly what kind of snacks Castiel was offering for them to look away from one another.

“Why don’t we head into the kitchen and see?” Castiel asked clapping his hands together and leading the way back out of the green room. He stopped at the door and slipped back out of his crocks, leaving the rubbery shoes behind for the next time he came to care for his plants. Pausing at the sound of a whispered conversation, Castiel looked over his shoulder to find both Dean and Robby scrambling to pull their snow boots off before they stepped back inside the house. A fond smile worked its way onto Cas’s features. Dean caught his eye and smiled sheepishly at him.

“You can put your boots by the front door and then follow the hallway to the left. There is a small bathroom about halfway down the hall where you can wash your hands. The kitchen is at the end of the hall. I will meet you there.”

By the time the Winchester’s joined Cas in his kitchen, he had laid out a plate of homemade cookies and was pulling a fresh blueberry pie out of the oven where he had set it to warm. On the stove top was one of his copper pots, a healthy dose of whole milk bubbling away into hot chocolate. He gave it a quick stir and then skillfully poured the steaming contents into a waiting mug.

“This is my secret recipe,” Castiel said as he retrieved a container of homemade whipped cream from the fridge and spooned a healthy glob on top of the cocoa. “I hope you like it. Also, there are nuts in some of the cookies… are you allergic to anything?”

**Photo caption:** Robby's view of how Cas makes his tea: With magic**

“Nuh-uh,” Robby said as he took the mug from Castiel and popped up onto one of the rustic stools that lined the butcher block island in the middle of the kitchen.

Castiel turned back to the stove. “Would you be adverse to a slice of pie? Or are you content with the cookies? This one should just be warm enough to melt some vanilla ice cream.” He licked his lips as he made the first cut, and a fresh breath of fragrant steam erupted from under the pie shell. “Mmmm.”

“Uncle D loves pie,” Robby said around a mouthful of rainbow cookie. “These are really good!”

“Does he?” Castiel asked with a playful glance over his shoulder at the man in question. Dean had propped himself up against the center island and was looking around the room. Castiel did the same—glancing around the room, wondering what it said about himself—as he plated two large slices of pie.

This was his favorite room in the house, which was saying something when his entire home was perfect to him. The kitchen, however, was large and cluttered in the best sort of way. It always smelled of freshly baked bread. Mostly, because Castiel was always baking something or another.

Today had been honey-rosemary shortbread cookies and the blueberry pie. Yesterday it had, in fact, been bread—oat and honey. He enjoyed using his home-harvested honey in his cooking. Castiel felt it added that special ‘love’ flavor to his food; the kind that makes you feel warm and content all over when you take a bite.

He set a plate of blueberry pie à la mode in front of each of the Winchesters before turning to retrieve his french press.

“Coffee or tea, Dean?” Castiel asked, half turning back towards the man. “...Or coco?”

Dean looked up from his pie, already there were two large spoonfuls missing. His eyes were half-lidded, and his cheeks were flushed as if he had been caught just on the edge of a moan. Castiel hastily looked away.

“Coffee. Coffee’s fine,” Dean managed around his mouthful, gulping audibly.

“Stop being weird,” Robby whispered

“I’m not being weird,” Dean grumbled back. There was a brief pause, and then Dean mumbled: “Shut up.”

Castiel turned back around with a cup of steaming coffee. “How do you take it, Dean?” he asks without even thinking.

The look that momentarily flashed over Dean’s features was predatorial, his lips tipping into a hungry smirk before he schooled his features. Castiel felt his pulse quicken at the implications of his statement and Dean’s blatant reaction to it. The heat of his blush crept up his neck and warmed his cheeks.

Diverting his eyes he quickly scrambled to ask, “Cream, sugar, milk, honey?” while he set the french press down and fumbled with a tea towel.

His heartbeat fluttered in his veins as his thoughts dropped into the gutter. Every drag of Dean’s pink tongue over his lips, or along his fork, made Castiel’s head spin in a way it hadn’t done in years.

“Uh, no. Black, black is fine,” Dean said. Their eyes caught again, and Castiel couldn’t help but smile. He hadn’t flirted like this since he was a kid. It was strange, and exciting, and refreshing all at once. For the first time in a long time, he felt like endless possibilities had unfurled before him.

Castiel slid up on to a stool across from the Winchesters, a fresh cup of tea warming his palms. He couldn’t help but smile at his fortune. How long had he wished for a reason to have this kind of unrestricted access to his neighbor? How long had he dreamed of having Dean in his kitchen, feeding him his baked goods, and just getting to know the other man better? Too long, that’s how long. Castiel sipped his tea.

As cozy and warm as he had made his home—much of it filled with plant life, herbs, and knick-knacks—it had always been missing something. Missing that special something that would turn his house into a home. Sitting across from Dean as he joked with Robby, making sly glances and small smiles at Castiel, he felt it fall into place. That thing that was missing was Dean: Dean and his hearty laughter, Dean and his swagger walk, Dean with his shy smiles and boisterous personality.

An ache so sudden and fierce awakened in his chest that it brought him physical pain. His thoughts spiraled darkly and Castiel hadn’t realized how hard he was frowning until Dean called his name, voice laced with concern. His calloused hand fell heavy on Castiel's wrist, the touch forcibly pulling Castiel from his thoughts and back to the present. Back to his warm kitchen and the soft flicker of concern in Dean’s bright green eyes. His body angled so he was reaching across the wide expanse of the island that separated them.

“You alright, buddy?” Dean asked, his green eyes searching Castiel’s face. “Lost you there for a moment.”

“Yes, sorry.” Castiel brightened. There was no reason to fall into his memories, not when he had so much to be looking forward to right now.

‘ _Live in the moment_ ,’ Gabriel would say. ‘ _Don’t get lost in the past, leave it there. It’s the past for a reason._ ’

Twisting his wrist slightly, Castiel slid his palm into Dean’s, hoping that his lack of practice at courting didn’t have him misreading the signals Dean was sending him. He gave a small smile and wrapped his fingers around the other man’s hand. Cautioning a glance up at Dean from under his lashes, he was pleased to find his joy reflected there.

“It’s just nice to have some company. ‘Specially during this season.” Castiel remarked, his smile stretch into a full grin as Dean gave his hand a little squeeze before drawing away.

“Your family isn’t from ‘round here?” Robby asked from around a bite of pie.

Castiel settled back onto his stool and sighed. Lifting his mug, he considered Robby over the rim. What would the harm be letting them into his life a little bit? He looked over at Dean, who—though he tried to hide it—seemed eager to learn more about Castiel’s history.

Picking up a Madeline, Castiel dunked it into his tea. “I guess you could say that.” He bit the soft buttery cookie, humming thoughtfully as its flavor washed over his tongue. “I have a large family,” he paused and corrected. “I had a large family. You could say that we are estranged now.”

“Extra-anged?” Robby asked, mispronouncing the word around a bite of pie.

“It means they don’t talk or see one another anymore.” Dean supplied, his voice soft.

“Right,” Castiel nodded. He tried to think of a way to sugar coat the sordid history with his family as much as he could for a twelve-year-old. Clearing his throat he continued, “Um, you could say that my family is very religious. I have four brothers and three sisters. All whom, in my parent's eyes, have very respectable careers. Nurses, clergy, teachers...” Castiel pulled up short, none of that mattered anymore. “Anyway, it was clear that my lifestyle choices did not conform to what they had envisioned my life's path to be.” He gave a small shrug and took another sip of his tea. It was sweet and light and immediately made him feel better.

Talking about his family and how they had all but excommunicated him always hurt. He was lonely. He had been lonely for a long time. He thought—if Gabriel’s count was correct the last time they spoke—he had ten or eleven nieces and nephews now. None of which he’d ever met.

“Cause you’re gay?” Robby asked in the blunt but curious way children had.

Dean sputtered, spraying coffee over his fingers. Coughing and gasping, his eyes went wide and flicked from Robby to Castiel. “Oh my God,” he whispered, reaching back and slapping Robby on the back of his head.

“Hey—!” Robby complained, rubbing where he’d been slapped.

“Cas…” Dean started, a panic taking over his features.

Castiel could only laugh. At least it was in the open, now.

With a kind smile, he gave a small nod. “That, among other things.”

“Robby,” Dean whisper-scolded.

“What?” Robby deflected, not at all understanding the social faux pas he had made by ‘outing’ Castiel without his permission. “It’s not like it’s a big deal.” The boy went on in a rush, refusing to break eye contact with his uncle. “It’s not like you don’t like guys and girls, or whatever. Mr. Novak being gay isn’t a big deal. Chill out.”

Robby shrugged like it was nothing—like his acceptance of his uncle being bisexual and Castiel being gay was no bigger thing than the sky being blue or the ocean being salty. Dean, however, was sitting ramrod straight on his stool, eyes wide. His lips pressed into a thin line as a dark blush rushed up his neck to color his cheeks and further bring out the golden green of his eyes.

Robby, oblivious to his uncle's discomfort, turned his attention to Castiel and asked, “Can I have another piece of pie?”

“S... sure,” Castiel managed.

Hopping off his stool and completely unaware of the tension he’d created, Robby went over to the stove to retrieve another piece of pie.

Looking back to Dean, Castiel decided this was the moment. With a small smile, he caught Dean’s eye. The poor man was still in shock over his nephew's actions, as if he was worried that Robby outing him as bisexual would make Castiel turn against him. Of course, there was no way Castiel could think of him in anything but a favorable way.

“Dean,” he began. The other man flinched, dropping his gaze to the table and suddenly interested in pushing the last few blueberries around his plate.

That wouldn’t do. Castiel set down his mug and slipped off his stool. He rounded the island to stand at Dean’s side, leaning casually against the counter's edge. Over Dean’s shoulder, Castiel noticed Robby silently waving at him. When their eyes met Robby gave a huge grin and a small thumbs up. He turned his back toward them and flipped on the water at the sink, clattering the few dishes there so that the rushing sound offered an illusion of privacy.

“Dean,” Castiel started again, reaching out and wrapping his fingers around Dean’s wrist. His other hand lifted the spoon from Dean’s grasp and placed it on the plate. With a gentle tug, he pulled Dean’s hand into his and waited for those beautiful green eyes to lift to his own. When they did Castiel smiled. Steeling his nerves he said: “Come over tomorrow. Let me make you dinner.”

When Dean didn’t respond right away a small nervous flutter settled in Castiel’s stomach. He licked his lips and cleared his throat, glancing down at their joined hands he pressed. “I hope I’m not being too presumptuous… I’d like to get to know you better.”

Glancing up, Dean was still looking at him with an expression of utter shock. His eyes were wide, lips parted slightly. Had Castiel been wrong in assuming Dean was at least open to seeing more of him? Had he misread the situation so poorly that he was now standing here embarrassing himself in front of the one person who’s opinion actually mattered? That was what he got for letting himself become such a homebody.  If there had ever been a time when Castiel had wished he was a witch, it was then. His heart spiraled down into his stomach, and he would give anything to go back and erase the last five minutes.

Cautiously, he released Dean’s wrist as the embarrassment flooded his system. His eyes stung, and he looked anywhere but the man sitting dumbfounded in front of him.

He absolutely would not cry. Not here. Not now. He was used to being alone, and this was no big deal.

His throat was oddly sticky, and he forced a cough to clear it. He took a step back, then another, from where Dean was sitting.

What an idiot he was. How embarrassing this whole thing had turned out to be! He should have just left them standing on his front porch all those hours ago. Castiel had a deep desire to flee the room, hide in his greenhouse among the plants and flowers; at least they would never judge him.

A blur of yellow and blue distracted him from his retreat causing him to freeze mid-step.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the sponge from the sink sailing through the air to strike Dean in the back of his head. It fell wetly to the floor.

Freeing Castiel from the laser-like focus of his gaze, Dean blinked for what felt like the first time in minutes and looked down at the sponge lying at his feet. As if the sponge smacking him in the head had pushed the play button, Dean surged off his stool, arm flying out to grab Castiel’s wrist.

“YES!” Dean shouted, a smile erupting like the sunrise on his face. He tugged Castiel back into his own personal space. “I mean… Yes, that– that sounds great.” He practically sighed. “I’d like that a lot.”

Relief washed over Castiel like a cool spring rain. Dean was smiling at him, his handsome face bright as his hand slid down and laced their fingers together. The rough, warm pad of his thumb gently swiped back and forth over the top of Castiel’s hand.

“Yeah, soooo….” Robby appeared next to them, a mischievous grin on his face. “I’m just going to wrap this up, ok?”

Castiel had no idea how long they had stood just staring into each other’s eyes before the boy had interrupted, but it felt as if it had been only seconds and an eternity all at once.

Robby held up a plate covered in tinfoil. “My dad’s supposed to pick me up now and I think he’d like a slice of this pie.”

Dean sucked in a breath. “Oh shit.” He dropped Castiel’s hand to check his watch. “Your dad’s probably outside already… Go get our coats from the greenroom, I’ll meet you at the front door.”

Robby nodded and slipped off back into the house.

Alone with Dean for the first time since the night started, Castiel felt like he could cut the tension with a knife. He wanted so badly to lean in and kiss the other man, licking his own lips to quell the notion. It definitely didn’t help that Dean’s eyes hungrily tracked the path of his tongue.

“Uncle D!” Robby shouted from the front room causing both of them to jump into action. They laughed like school children and stole sideways glances at one another while they made their way to the front of the house. Robby stood, ready and waiting.

Pulling the door open, Robby stepped out onto the front porch. Dean slipped into his boots and shrugged on his coat before following after him. Reluctantly, Castiel paused on the threshold. Dean stood on one side, Castiel on the other, and both seemed unable or unwilling to say goodnight.

Nerves buzzed in Castiel’s stomach like angry bees. He felt as if time had slowed to a crawl. Warm yellow porch light reflected the gold shimmers of Dean’s eyes. The steam from their breath rose in a thick mist between them. The way—

“Hey, Mr. Novak?” Robby’s voice called Castiel away from staring at Dean.

“Humm?”

“What kinda plant is that?” The boy asked, pointing to the small, pale green sprig hanging from the top of his front door frame.

“Um, it’s mistletoe?” Castiel responded, squinting up at the little branch. His mind raced to remember if he had hung any mistletoe this year. If he had, he definitely did not remember hanging it there—that was for sure. Imagine how awkward it would be if the mailman asked for a kiss.

“Mistletoe?” Dean’s voice rumbled out thoughtfully, a smile spread across his features. Before Castiel knew what was happening, two warm hands slipped around his waist and pulled him out onto the porch.

“Mistletoe,” Dean whispered. His breath puffed, sweet like pie and coffee, over Castiel’s lips. All thoughts of where the mystery mistletoe came from wiped from his mind as Dean’s plush soft lips pressed against his own.

They melted against one another, breathing as one. Dean’s hands burned like brands against the small of Castiel’s back, and it took everything Castiel had not to moan wantonly when Dean’s tongue flicked playfully against Castiel’s bottom lip. Granting Dean access was like coming home. The other man tasted like blueberries, and honey, and the tang of coffee. It was so warm and right that Castiel wanted to drown himself in this very moment. Pressing forward, Castiel gripped the lapels of Dean’s leather jacket.

Sandalwood and clove infused his senses. Each breath Castiel took in through his nose smelled like Dean and fresh crisp snow. It made him dizzy, giddy, and deliriously _happy_. He was happy. He had missed this feeling; had almost forgotten what being happy to his very core felt like. Warmth suffused his entire being, spreading out from each and every spot on his body Dean was pressed against.

“HEY, Jerk!”

They pulled apart suddenly, sucking in air like they had just surfaced from below a deep wave. Castiel’s lips tingled, and his eyes were slow to blink open. When they finally do, his vision’s full of Dean’s flushed and smiling face. In unison, they leaned back in toward one another, lips parted and ready….

“Wow! Right in front of my child!”

“ _Dad_!” Robby whisper-scolded.

A snowball sailed through the air, and Castiel was dusted with powder as it collided with the back of Dean’s head.

“What is with people throwing things at my head today!” Dean growled, his hands slipping from Castiel’s waist as he turned around.

Immediately, he mourned the loss of Dean’s touch, his body leaning toward the other man. “Can’t you see I’m busy upholding an important holiday tradition?” Dean shouts, one hand lifting to point at the mistletoe.

Before Dean could even finish his sentence, Sam Winchester tossed another snowball, bullseyeing him square on the nose. He swiped a hand down his face, a low growl erupting from his chest, while Castiel hid his laughter behind his hand.Dean glanced back at him, gave a small wink, and turned, charging off the porch toward his brother and nephew.

Watching the towering form of Sam Winchester bob and weave around his snowy front yard was a sight to be seen. The taller man darted just outside of Dean’s reach, shouting something that sounded remarkably like “and who do you think put that mistletoe there in the first place?”

Dean shrieked an indignant “ _what?!_ ” as he scooped up snow to pelt his brother in the back. “We’ve been played Ca— **_**UMPH**_ **!” Dean’s playful rant was cut off as he was tackled to the snow.

Thoughtfully, Castiel looked up at the incongruous little sprig. He didn’t remember adding any mistletoe this year. He was pretty sure that there had not been mistletoe anywhere in his house before tonight, and now everything was clear.

Narrowing his eyes, he searched out Robby. The boy was laughing, pelting his father and uncle indiscriminately with snowballs. When Castiel managed to catch the boy’s attention, he waved him up to join him on the porch.

“What’s going on?” Castiel asked, pointedly, indicating the brothers snow fighting and the tiny bunch of foliage hanging above his door.

“So, I, like, may or may not have texted my dad what was up while you and Uncle D were making goo-goo eyes at one another.”

“Did you, now?” Castiel and Robby turned their attention back to the scene erupting in the yard. Dean had managed to spear tackle Sam and was now attempting to bury his brothers head in the snow.

“I mean, maybe.” Robby shrugged. “You didn’t hear it from me, but I think my uncle has had a crush on you for a long time now.”

“Has he?” Castiel looked down at the boy in surprise before a yelp drew his attention back to the yard. Sam had gripped Dean by the ankle as he attempted to return to the porch and pulled, causing Dean to belly flop back into the snow.

“Yeah, but, like, I had to make sure you weren’t a witch first.” Robby looked sheepishly up at Castiel. “Glad you are not, by the way.”

“Dude!” Dean shouted at his brother, dancing around to try and dislodge the snow Sam had pushed down his collar, and Sam just laughed. “Robby! You traitor! Help your uncle!”

“Castiel, help your future brother-in-law!” Sam shouted, and even from his place on the porch, Castiel could see the blush rush up Dean’s face.

“Jesus Christ, dude,” Dean hissed, tackling his brother into the snow again.

Robby barked a laugh. “See? Told you. Uncle D’s poorly hidden crush on you is well known in the Winchester house. Me and dad were pretty tired of him not making a move. _So_ , while you were too busy looking at each other to look at me, we came up with a plan.” He thumbed over his shoulder at the mistletoe. “I didn’t think it would work as well as it did, though.”

Castiel blushed, clearing his throat. “Yes, well….” he trailed off.

“Oh, boy. Here they come,” Robby sighed dramatically thankfully cutting off anything Castiel might have said in his defense.

Dean and Sam were trudging their way out of the snow and up the steps, huffing and puffing but smiling all the same. Dean came to a stop in front of Castiel, and his smile became smaller, more intimate. He reached out and took Castiel by the hand.

“Here we go again…” Robby groaned, rolling his eyes as everyone on the porch burst into laughter.

“You better watch it, or Cas’ll turn you into a toad!” Dean joked. Pulling Castiel toward him, Dean dropped a heavy arm around his shoulders.

“Oh, no. You’re all wet!” Castiel shivered, being the only one not in a jacket or boots.

“He isn’t a witch, so he can’t turn me into anything,” Robby responded confidently.

“Oh, yeah? Are you so sure?” Castiel joked. Leaning forward, he swiped his hand behind Robby’s ear and came away with a small slip of paper tucked between his fingers. Robby gasped, his hand going to his ear as if to check if there was any more paper hiding there.

Robby’s hand snapped out and snatched the paper from Castiel’s fingertips, unfolding the little slip before rolling his eyes and groaning loudly.

“This is for you,” he said before pushing passed his uncle. “Come on, Dad. I legit can’t take them anymore.”

Sam clapped Cas on his shoulder and gave his brother a nod as he clomped down the steps after his son.

Dean looked up at Castiel, confusion etched into his features.

“It’s my cell phone number,” Castiel whispered, suddenly shy as Dean unfolded the paper. “I figured you could text me, or call me or…” He shrugged.

“Yeah. I will.” Dean leaned in and pressed a cold nosed kiss to Castiel’s cheek. “I definitely will. But I’ll see you tomorrow for dinner, right?”

“Right.” Castiel sighed as Dean stepped back, the small slip of paper clutched tightly between his fingers. “Right!” Cas repeated louder with an uncontrollable bubble of laughter as Dean backed down his steps, slipping slightly on the last one.

“Come on, loser!” Robby shouted from the street, pelting Dean with yet another snowball and causing him to finally break eye contact with Castiel.

“Why, you little...” Dean sprinted down the path toward his family, shouting, “Don”t forget you’re coming back to shovel Cas’s path for the rest of the month!”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed this fic. Please stay tuned as [@OsirisApollo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/OsirisApollo/pseuds/OsirisApollo) is currently working on this story from Dean's POV! 
> 
> Comments and Kudos activate my Praise Kink!
> 
> Come say hi on [Tumblr](https://hartlessfiction.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Also A bonus scene for you! The text messages for the **PLAN** formed between Robby and Sam. This particular scene is not in the story but happened as an aside when Foxy and I were talking about how Sam and Robby were going to get Cas and Dean together. Of course, animated by the one and only FoxyMoley.
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> **Close Up**
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>  And lastly just a cute scene of Cas tending his bees in the summer. Which you will be able to see in Osiris's fic
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> Please leave a comment <3 Thanks for reading!  
> 


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